Page 10 of Prodigal

The owner of the place, Tony, was on his knees not even two feet away with someone clad in all black, a mask covering their face, standing over him, pointing a gun at Tony’s forehead.

They’d walked into a robbery.

“Dré?”

He didn’t respond to his sister’s shaking voice—he was too busy eyeing the second gunman behind the counter holding Tony’s wife, Vanessa, as she sobbed quietly, tears running down her face.

Get out. Get out.

He grabbed Juliette’s wheelchair handles with both hands, taking a step back. Then another. And anoth?—

“Ah. Ah.”

Something touched his nape and he froze.

“Leaving so soon?”

There was a third one. His heart dropped and he quickly threw up both hands, swallowing the panic as he held his body still. “I’m sorry. We don’t—we don’t want any trouble. We’re leaving.”

Jules made a sound and he bit down on his tongue, hating that he couldn’t even comfort her.

“Why? Was it something we said?” The person behind him, a man judging by the slurred tone, prodded André in the neck with what could only be a gun. “Go on in, you and the little lady in the chair.”

“Please. We haven’t seen your faces, let us go.”

“Not how it works,” the person muttered in his ear. “And I’m not gonna tell you again.”

“Dré?”

“Shh. It’s okay,” he told Jules. Even though he was shaking. Even though he didn’t know how they’d get out of this.

Tony’s wife’s sobs got louder as André did what he’d been ordered to do, rolling Juliette farther into the shop and closerto where Tony knelt, face red, his body still. It was as if the big, jovial guy André had always known didn’t want to even blink. Fear for his sister, for himself, iced André’s insides as he touched the back of Juliette’s neck, trying to impart comfort. He didn’t think he succeeded, not with her whimpers that tore at him.

“Kneel.” The guy behind André stepped into his line of sight. He was stocky and dressed in head-to-toe black, gloved hand steady on the gun he pointed in André’s face. “Next to Tony over here,” he said, indicating where with a jerk of his head.

André inched away from Juliette, making sure to keep his hands raised as he moved closer to Tony.

“You too,” the guy said, addressing Juliette. “On your knees.”

“She can’t.” André turned to him. “Can’t you see—” A blow to the face sent him staggering. Felt as if his brain rattled around in his skull from that one hit. His ears rang, but even over that loudness he heard Juliette’s screams and Vanessa’s sobs. Something warm trickled down the side of his face and he touched it with a shaking hand. His vision jumped around, but he was still able to make out red.

“Dré! Dré! Don’t hurt him!”

“Jul—” His knees gave out and he crashed to the floor. “Jules.” He had to get to her. But his vision kept winking in and out. How fucking hard had he been hit? And with what? He got onto all fours, trying to crawl in the direction of his sister’s screams, but someone grabbed him by the neck and yanked him back into a kneeling position.

“If the little lady isn’t out of that chair by the time I count to ten, I’m shooting her.”

“No. Please.” Blood poured down his face, obscuring his vision. Or was it tears? “She can’t. Don’t do this.”

The grip on him disappeared and he rocked, blinking as the guy stepped toward Jules.

“One.”

“No. No!” André reached for him, but the guy wasn’t close enough. His head hurt like a motherfucker, but he struggled to his feet.

“Two.”

“Three.”

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